


Night and Day

by impilii



Category: Cinderella (1950)
Genre: Bullying, F/F, Non-Consensual Spanking, Nonconathon Treat, Object Insertion, Verbal Humiliation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-14
Updated: 2019-07-14
Packaged: 2020-06-03 02:27:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,923
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19454443
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/impilii/pseuds/impilii
Summary: After the ball, Cinderella's stepsisters take out their anxieties on Cinderella.





	Night and Day

**Author's Note:**

  * For [colorcoded](https://archiveofourown.org/users/colorcoded/gifts).



Cinderella still feels as if she’s floating in a dream. The bubbles from the sink tickle her nose as she finishes up the dinner dishes and the soap stings her hands but she doesn’t mind. The Prince's announcement means he's coming to find her, and that’s all that matters. Even the bells impatiently ringing can't dim her happiness. 

Her stepmother mostly ignores her as she lays the tea tray beside her bed and tends the fire. “Once you are finished in Anastasia and Drizella’s rooms, you may retire,” she says just as Cinderella is about to leave. 

“Yes, stepmother.” She promenades down the hall in time to imaginary music, an invisible arm under her hand, a handsome face smiling back at her. 

Her stepsisters are squished together at the vanity, gossiping as they curl their hair. 

“Good evening,” she says to no acknowledgement, not that she expected it. She hums a little waltz as she pulls the grate away from the fireplace and adds a log to the fire. The sparks remind her of the fireflies in the castle garden. Heat curls at her core as she remembers the warmth of his hand on her waist as they walked together through the cool air. She presses her thighs together and feels a little wetness as they slide against each other.

“—Cinderella! Pay attention, Cinderella!” 

“Mm-hmm?” Perhaps he’ll arrive tomorrow, she thinks. Or the day after. She turns half an ear to her stepsister’s prattling. 

“Haven’t there been any calling cards for me? I impressed so many people at the ball, they’ve got to be just lining up for me. Mother said there’d be cards by now.”

“Cards for you, what about _me_?”

“Uh-uh.” Three days at the most, surely, and then he’ll sweep her away to the castle and she’ll never set foot here again. She can wait three more days.

“What are you smiling about? You couldn’t steal our things to fix up your hideous dress so instead you’re sabotaging us?” Drizella’s hairbrush smacks down on the vanity.

Cinderella is jerked from the memory of the prince’s arms around her. “What?” she asks, belated.

“Oh, you are, you evil little thing!” In a flash, Anastasia is up from the bench, grabbing her by the apron. “Where are you keeping them!” 

“I—I’m not—what are you—I didn’t take anything!” 

“You’re a jealous little liar! It’s a wicked thing to steal our chances just because no one will ever want you!” She hears the stitching on her apron start to snap. 

“Don’t!” she exclaims. “I didn’t steal anything!”

“That’s exactly what a thief would say,” Drizella hisses, and shoves her down by the shoulders. “You’ve hidden them in these filthy rags, haven’t you.”

Anastasia and Drizella tear through her clothes, pulling at every pocket and seam. Careful hours of stitching, ripped through in seconds. Frustration makes tears prickle in her eyes. “I promise you, I didn’t.”

“You’re a liar and a thief, and you’ll get what liars and thieves deserve,” Anastasia says. “A good spanking.”

They shove her onto her hands and knees. Drizella’s knee on her back sends her face first onto the hearth, nearly cracking her nose on the andirons. They hold her down and wallop her over her skirt with their hands for a while. It’s humiliating, the kind of spanking she got as a child, but it doesn’t hurt much. It actually feels—

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Cinderella repeats and hopes they’ll soon grow bored. 

“I’m not sure she’s really sorry,” she hears Anastasia say. “Wait a moment. Drizella, pull that up.”

Cinderella bites her cheek with dread as she feels her skirt lifted. 

“Look at that pale little bottom! Oh, she’s not sorry at all yet!” 

“I am,” she protests. A crack of heat makes her yelp.

“Anastasia, that’s mine!” Drizella exclaims. “You can’t use that!” 

“Look how well it works, though.” Another slap comes down. Something smooth rubs over her ass one way, then scratchy the other, sparking pain on top of pain.

“Do it again! I want to see the whole thing turn bright red!” 

Each blow shoves her forward a little. She kicks with her legs, but Anastasia just laughs. “Hold still and take it, you little brat!”

It goes on forever as Cinderella writhes, trying to breathe without inhaling ash. Drizella’s weight on her back is crushing her lungs, her ass is throbbing beyond anything, and somehow she still feels a thread of heat curling through her. 

Drizella scratches across the bruises Cinderella knows must be forming, pulling her cheeks up and apart. 

“Look at that!” One of them scrapes up her thigh and pokes at her quim. “She’s wet!” 

They fall into a hushed silence. “What a slut,” Anastasia’s whisper cuts through the room like a bell. Cinderella muffles a whimper as another hand pulls her inner lips open.

“What… what’s that smell?” Drizella asks. Cinderella’s whole body flames with humiliation. “Something…”Anastasia shrieks, and the next thing Cinderella knows, her whole head is doused in water. Drizella grabs her by the head, and Cinderella watches as a clump of her hair crumbles off into her hand. 

“Eww!” Drizella drops it on the hearth. 

Cinderella feels her head frantically. Where long golden locks used to be, her hair now falls unevenly around her neck, short and friable. More crumbles off with every pass of her hand.

Her eyes fill with tears. The three of them stare in horror at the ashy mess on the border between the carpet and the hearth.

“Well,” Drizella starts and stops. “Well—Well, you deserved it!” She looks to Anastasia for confirmation.

“Yes, you did!” Anastasia nods. “For being such a—a filthy thief and a slut! Look at what a mess you’ve made, Cinderella!”

“It’s all your fault,” Drizella adds, grabbing her by the roots of what hair she has left and scrubbing her face through the mess. “So clean it up!” 

Anastasia tears at her skirt, and Cinderella feels a whole panel rip away. “Use your rags,” Anastasia says. “That’s all they’re good for.” 

Cinderella cleans the hearth while her stepsisters watch, sweeping her own hair into the ashpan. Her tears overflow and spill down her cheeks.

“Well, now you're wet all over,” Drizella says. "You know, you're lucky Anastasia is such a quick thinker. You might not have any hair left at all, otherwise."

"That's right," Anastasia says. "You should say thank you." 

Cinderella's chest heaves as she chokes down a sob. Anastasia laughs and rips at the front of her bodice. It splits and her breasts tumble out. “And look at those stiff little nipples.” She smacks them with both hands, then scrapes them with the hard-bristled hairbrush. “You like this? Let’s check.” 

“No,” she gasps, but they have her back on her hands and knees in an instant. It feels like they’ve got more than four arms, the way they manhandle her into position and pull her legs apart. 

Fingers shove into her easily. “She does like it. Maybe we should just call her Cinderslut. Or Cinderwhore.” 

“No man’s ever going to ask _her_ to marry him, that’s for sure.”

“I bet we can find something to fill that hungry twat.” Something hard joins the fingers, shoving even deeper into her. 

“Anastasia, that’s my brush!” Drizella complains.

It thrusts into her a few more times. “Oh, fine. I guess it’s not really big enough for a slut like her anyhow. Hold her still,” Anastasia orders, and moves away. 

Drizella gasps when she sees whatever Anastasia does next. “Do you think it’ll fit?” 

“Let’s find out,” Anastasia says.

Then something is sinking into her, chilly and huge. It widens and narrows twice, three times, and what even is it she wonders as it fills her up, pressing against her insides in a way that’s half pain and half pleasure. It’s got ridges or some sort of texture that rubs against her just right, and it’s while she’s shuddering in orgasm around it that she realizes. The brass fire poker with its decorative knobbed end, the same one she polishes twice a week, because if her stepsisters can’t see their reflections in every shiny surface, there’s hell to pay.

“Did you see that?” Drizella squawks. “She just came! God, she really _is_ a cinderslut.” 

Another sharp slap to the ass makes her clench down around the poker inside her. “Let’s see if she can do it again,” Anastasia says, voice dark. She thrusts forward with the poker. “Crawl, Cinderelly.”

“Please, I don't, please!” Cinderella can’t control her yelps and moans as they drive her around the room on her hands and knees, smacking her with the hairbrush and fucking her with the poker. The sisters shriek with laugher each time she falls, then force her back up.

The door slams open.

“What is all this noise?” Lady Tremaine snaps. 

The sisters drop everything and Cinderella collapses to the floor. 

“Sorry, mama, we were just—” “Sorry, mama, she was—“ Anastasia and Drizella's mumbled half-apologies fall silent.

Cinderella’s choked back sobs shake her like an earthquake. The poker rubs inside her as she quivers on the floor. She watches Lady Tremaine’s approach from the corner of her eye, wanting, hoping, wishing for kindness.

The tip of a shoe turns her face up and crushes that bare scrap of hope. “Well, aren’t you going to apologize for disturbing me?”

“I—I—“ Cinderella drops her forehead to the floor, defeated. “I’m sorry, ma’am.”

“Get up,” she orders, and watches with cold disapproval as Cinderella struggles to her feet. She nods to the poker on the floor. “Pick that up. I send you in here to do a job, and instead I find you lazing about on the floor? Disgraceful.”

Cinderella stares at her in disbelief. Anastasia giggles.

“Well?”

Cinderella turns to the fireplace, adjusts the logs and banks the ashes in a mechanical daze. Her stepmother stops her as she leans the fireplace poker back in its spot. “And take that disgusting thing down to the kitchen to wash it,” she orders. “You can return it in the morning.”

She watches from the top of the stairs as Cinderella obeys, wiping the traces of her own violation off the metal rod. 

“Was there something else, ma’am?” she asks, exhausted.

Her stepmother sneers. “I wouldn’t want you to get distracted again on your way to the attic.” 

Lady Tremaine is a judgmental shadow as she limps down the hallway. Just as they pass the full length mirror, her stepmother drags her to a halt. “Look at yourself.” Cinderella closes her eyes, but Lady Tremaine grabs her by the arms and shakes her. “ _Look_ at yourself,” she repeats. 

In the mirror is a pitiful figure: burnt-off hair, a soot-streaked face, sweat and tears dripping grime down onto her bared breasts. Stains where her hands were clenched in her torn skirt, which does nothing to hide her tacky thighs and scraped knees, and ripped up slippers on her dirty feet.

“You may live in a dream for a night. You might even dance once with a prince.” Lady Tremaine tucks what’s left of her hair behind her ear, and smiles at her in the mirror. “But this is what you really are. Do you think anyone who sees you like this would want you?” 

Cinderella manages a whisper. “No.”

“That’s right.” Lady Tremaine swipes a tear from her face with a gentle thumb and pushes her into the attic. “I think you’ll agree it’s better that you’re not seen at all.”


End file.
